It's often silly, sometimes fun and occasionally a bit boring if I'm honest.

Although it might sound like it, this isn’t a sponsored post. But should I suddenly appear in a sports bra commercial (!), which would be an excellent commercial decision (!!), we have this post to thank.

Back in January 2012 I was talking to another mother, Lisa, at the school gate. Lisa was looking very sporty in head-to-toe running gear. After dropping off the kids, she was heading to Wimbledon Common for a run.

I was impressed. Not just with her easy wearing of full lycra; I was impressed she was going for a run at all. I can walk for my country and I am a talented sitter – ideally while eating Twisties (cheese not chicken). But I couldn’t run and I told her so. Running just wasn’t on my radar, it was in the same category of things like tinkering with engines, drinking green juice or anything to do with tapestry. Just not something I would do.

She asked if I had an injury. I didn’t. She made a great point: with two working legs and no injuries, I was physically capable of running. Why not give it a go? She never used to run either. She told me to start small and to keep doing it. It worked for her.

So I did.

“We’re all having so much fun!”

My first run was for 16 minutes and I thought I was going to collapse. It wasn’t much, but far better than zero minutes which I had previously mastered.

Since then, while I’m not winning medals any time soon, I actually do go for regular runs. And this is what I would say to anyone who thinks they can’t, as I did. I’ll preface it by saying that I’m far from an expert. I’m not super fit and I don’t run as often as I should.

But I am a good example of someone who had never, ever been for a jog before who now makes running a (small) part of her life. I now enjoy running – I don’t love it, but I feel fantastic afterwards. Although I really need to go for a run without blabbing it to everyone afterwards. It must be so annoying.

JUST DO IT

Don’t wait until you feel motivated. Motivation is not your friend. It’s when you really, really don’t feel like exercising that you really, really need to (note to self: take own advice).

Start small. Start with anything – a 5 minute run is a start! The idea is to make your next run last for 6 minutes, and keep building it up. Getting started is the hardest part, so once you’ve got a couple of runs under your belt, you’re over the worst.

Personally, the first kilometre of a run is a kind of torture. Keep your feet light, try to find a rhythm and don’t overthink it. Just keep going, run through it and you’ll hit a spot when you suddenly think “Wow I’m actually enjoying this! WTF??”

About to keel over? Walk. Imminent heart attack? Stop. There are times when I can’t get into the run at all, so I’ll find myself a nice hill and walk quickly up that. Or I’ll look at the hill, turn around and go home.

Goals are good. If I decide to run a certain distance, but I’m still feeling fresh(ish) and have time at the end, I’ll keep going. If there’s more fuel in the tank, try to use it! If I can’t manage any runs during the week I’ll aim for a big one on the weekend.

Don’t have time? I get that. Spare time is precious and there are so many great ways you can spend it. Personally, there are people way busier than me who make the time, so I think I should too.

Crossing the bridge at Blackmores. Super flattering!

USE APPS

I use Runkeeper. It tracks how far I go, gives me an exact map, I can enter goals and it tracks all my runs. It’s great. I recommend going into Settings and switching off the audio cues. Otherwise you’ll hear a constant stream of information, and I much prefer listening to music than “Time: 20 minutes, average pace: seriously slow…” (I should add they don’t actually critique your running).

If it’s been a while and I need help getting back into it, I’ll use 5k Runner. This prompts you to walk and run at intervals. Another great one is Couch to 5.

MUSIC, SWEET MUSIC

I don’t know how anyone runs without music, I really don’t. I admire those that do.

At any one time I’ll have a few running playlists to choose from, as I find that running to the same songs again and again gets boring. Just today, I added a fast Powderfinger song to one of the lists, one that I hadn’t run to before. The song came on just as I was finishing a run, so I didn’t stop. I actually ran some more. The old me would have thought that was a seriously weird thing to do.

So run with your smart phone, with your running app and music going at the same time. You can buy handy holders that strap around your arm, but these give me a festy rash. So pretty! I just hold my phone, it doesn’t bother me.

THE GEAR

Running is free and that’s one of its benefits. You can spend a fortune on running gear if you wanted to. For me, I have good shoes and an industrial strength bra, the rest is a bonus.

About the bra…

I can honestly say that one of the reasons why I never ran was because of my boobs. That and because I’m naturally quite lazy. But get the right sports bra, put those puppies into traction, and you can really move. It’s a miracle! I think the best sports bra ever invented is the running bra by Shock Absorber, and I totally look like the models on their website. I order them online from Wiggle as I can’t find them in the shops here in Australia, nor can I find anything in local shops that look half as strong.

I had never heard of energy gels until last year. Basically, you can buy edible gels that give you more energy. My husband takes them sometimes, but we are in different leagues of athleticism. This morning he ran the equivalent of a half marathon before work, which is something Batman might do.

But it’s worth reading up on them. I’ve taken them twice, and both times I ran 10km and didn’t collapse afterwards. I’d never hit 10km before, so they clearly have their benefits but they’re not really for me.

SIGN UP, SIGN UP

I honestly would never have thought it, but there is a really special atmosphere at fun runs. They’re great because they give you something to aim for, rather than running aimlessly through an empty chasm of quiet despair.

There are loads of websites that list runs near you. Check out your local ones, like this one in Lindfield if you live in this part of the world. I’m signed up for the Mother’s Day Classic which is a really fun event. And this year I’m actually going to go, rather than hit snooze on my alarm and sleep through it, which is what I did last year.

So there you have it. If you have any other tips, please add them below and I’d LOVE to hear of someone who gives it a go!

Like it? Share it using these buttons that I don't understand. You can also comment below.

Like this:

This was closely followed by one of the most beautiful summer holidays I’ve ever had. Every effort was made to enjoy it – to marvel at the blue sky, to feel the sand under my feet, to hug and kiss the children to within an inch of their lives. To step on Lego and not painfully scream about throwing the lot away, but to calmly say “Oh dash!” and praise my son’s building talents.

My brother and his husband visited from the US and it was a special time. We held a celebratory wedding dinner for them – how could we not celebrate something so special?! Life is too short not to. It was a fabulous evening with family and I’m still buzzing from it.

Dad and James getting merry.

Christmas was lovely, although I did end it slumped on the couch, dribbling slightly. But it’s not often we have the family together and we did this year. Everyone there was someone you truly know and love. So you could make as many terrible jokes as you like. (On a side note, I promised my friend Karin a reprisal of my old Christmas tree post. Excuse the formatting!)

In January, we went to the south coast and stayed at a friend’s holiday house. It was just for a few nights but I can honestly say, we had the best time I’d had in ages. We spent the first night with our friends and had a ball together. They then came back to Sydney, leaving the four of us to ourselves. It was magical spending this time together. Just us. The beach couldn’t have been more perfect, the kids were in heaven and my husband was a champion as always. I absolutely appreciated every second, and I could feel Tom doing the same.

No makeup selfie. Apparently these are really, really BRAVE.

I now get why people love the south coast. Except I’m still not over the whole “Hi, I’m a stingray, give me food” thing. The stingray photos are on my husband’s phone, I’ll have to get them to show you one day.

Back in Sydney and to top the summer off, one of my great friends held the world’s most fun engagement party EVER – and got married at it. Their wedding vows were punctuated by over 200 people cheering. Sure it was partly the alcohol, but mostly out of sheer happiness for two great people in lurve.

Yes, we’re wearing nametags. But each one was a personalised conversation starter, for example, “Edwina – friend of Amanda’s – Ask me about when I set off the fire alarm!” I’d love to tell you that story one day, but I’ll have to check with Dwe first.

We’re just so lucky. Lucky to live in Australia. Lucky to have each other. Lucky Ricky Martin is famous, otherwise we’d never have seen him. Lucky to have such wonderful family and friends. Lucky that my husband works near Haig’s chocolates in the CBD and he brings me loads of treats on his way home (HINT: I’d like more treats please).

And our new, replacement guinea pigs are still alive. Result!

Anyway, this post is all a bit unexpected. I actually sat down to write about jogging and how the right sports bra can actually make a non-runner like me into someone who actually goes for runs. Or more accurately, really fast walks.

As February 2015 draws to a close, what are you grateful for?

Like it? Share it using these buttons that I don't understand. You can also comment below.

Like this:

For a light-hearted blog, I’m about to get a bit serious. Bear with me, I’m just trying to make some sense out of all this.

I recently wrote about our fantastic school reunion and how we had such a great year. We really did. I now think back to that night of smiling faces, I think of the beautiful friendships, the laughter and camaraderie in the room. Just weeks later, the unimaginable has happened.

I can’t believe I’m writing about a terrorist attack in Sydney.

And I can’t believe Katrina Dawson, by nothing more than pure and ugly chance, was killed.

You might have read or heard about Katrina. If you did, you will have heard she was a superstar lawyer with a supreme intellect, a mother of three and a lovely person to boot.

I’m lucky enough to know Katrina from school and I can tell you, she really was remarkable. A friend described her as “formidable” on the news last night, and I think Helen nailed it when she did. Honestly, she was always smiling and genuinely happy to see you. She’s the girl who never said anything bad about anyone. You won’t hear a single negative thing about her because she really was that nice.

I read somewhere yesterday that she was a “high flying barrister” and I’m not sure about that. She had a stellar career, yes, but for me, the words “Katrina Dawson” and “high flying” don’t go together. She was too humble, too nice, too normal. Her great friend Molly wrote this today and it’s just spot on.

I’m devastated for her family who are in a world of pain beyond anything I can imagine. She had a tight-knit group of school friends who are just lovely, wonderful people. I’ve been in contact with a few and I’m thinking of them all. I’m finding this incredibly difficult and intensely sad, so I can only imagine what they are going through and my heart goes out to them.

For someone so warm, doing so much good and with three young children, to be killed the way she was is beyond comprehension. I now know what it’s like to see a friend’s face on the evening news, something I never wanted to experience, and it’s absolutely gut-wrenching.

It’s been a long couple of days. These feelings are totally new to me and hard to describe. At varying times I feel breathless, sick in the stomach, sad, panicky… sometimes all at once. Just now, I took the kids out for pizza as a treat. The people on the neighbouring table started talking loudly, in graphic detail, about the siege and hearing it so suddenly meant I lost it right in front of the children. So if that’s me, how on earth are those closest to her coping?

But as I’ve said, we had a great school year and the messages, words of love, comfort and support bouncing around have been really something. I’m looking forward to seeing them all for a big group hug.

Finally, as I tucked my kids into bed last night, I thought of three gorgeous little children whose loving mother never wanted to leave them.

Somewhere along the way, I was surprised to fall quite in love with them. I know they’re not for everyone (“Really? They’re rodents? I had no idea!”). I’m normally a dog person, but something about these little critters just got me. They had real personality. Watching them tootle about their business was surprisingly relaxing and Josephina, well, she just looked ridiculous and made me laugh.

The baby, Sam, who my son named after himself, ended up shagging his mother and friend. Stay classy rodents! So Rosie and Josephina were heavily pregnant, one of them with her son’s baby – apparently incest is socially acceptable in cavy circles. We were expecting babies any day. Checking for new, tiny guinea pigs became part of our routine and we were all really excited.

The kids loved playing with them and when they had friends over, they’d all spend time in the pen. Their care was left largely to me, and yes, I’m the only parent on earth to say that. They slept in a hutch, and I made a large wire pen so they could run around during the day. I’d move the pen around the lawn so they always had fresh grass, and they had little boxes and tunnels to hide in. When it was cold, they snuggled up in lots of straw, and when it was hot, they kept cool in the shade and I’d water down their boxes and put a wet shirt over their hutch.

They got lots of attention and they had a great life.

Then on Friday, because I fucked up, they’re all dead.

It was a seriously hot day. First thing in the morning, as I did every day, I moved their pen to a new part of the lawn. I took the hutch out of their pen, probably because I wanted them to have more space but now I wish I didn’t do that. I put their boxes in the pen, changed their water and food, they squeaked at me and all was well.

They were in the shade. I had to go out and I remember checking them, thinking they had enough shade for the morning. I remember thinking I wouldn’t be out for too long.

I went to Macquarie Centre, a shopping centre I’ve long avoided but it’s been redone so I had to check it out. I started my Christmas shopping. I met my sister for an early lunch. She thought I was nuts showing her photos of the guinea pigs’ huge pregnant bellies, but we had babies on the way people! Tiny, fluffy babies!

And then… well I don’t know what I was thinking. I should have come straight home to move them; it was a stinking hot day, nearly 40 degrees. Instead I popped into my local shops to pick up dry cleaning and get some groceries. I don’t remember feeling like I was in a hurry. I honestly don’t know what I was thinking. Did I forget about them? Did I think they had shade and would be fine? Did I misjudge how hot it was outside? I’ve tried to remember but I can’t.

As an aside, if I am ever a police witness, then everyone involved in that case is screwed. Ask me what I did last Sunday and chances are I’ll have no idea.

Anyway I got home at about 1:30pm and knew something was very wrong. Normally they’d race over to see me, squeaking. I could see black and white fur in the blazing sun, and it was completely still.

I ran over and found Rosie and Josephina were lying together, dead. I looked for Sam and found him lying dead on his side, in a shelter. They had moved their little shelters around, so the openings were facing the sun, offering no shade at all.

I picked up Josephina and rushed to get her under a tap; I thought I could revive her. The water from the tap was hot so I ended up scolding an already dead guinea pig. Instead of properly checking on the others, or actually trying to revive Josephina with something other than hot water, I ran in circles around the garden with her in my arms. Yep, calm.

I buried them together in a corner of the garden. Well, I’d put Josephina in the little grave, saw the size of the grave was hopelessly inadequate, got her out again, dug some more, buried her again…. etc. I must have said goodbye to her about about five times. It was a bit silly really.

Telling the kids was horrible but they were OK. Abbie and I had a little graveside ceremony, where she said, “You were all so nice to me, and always so friendship.”

That night in bed, I cried into my husband’s armpit – a place I normally avoid. He has made me promise I’ll be this upset if and when he dies.

On Saturday, the backyard was too quiet. When I step outside, I’m used to having three furry faces racing around their pen to see me, whistling.

So I went and bought two female guinea pigs which my daughter has named Fluffy and Abbie. My kids really do have a penchant for naming animals after themselves, and no, my daughter’s name isn’t Fluffy.

Abbie & Abbie

Anyway, this is what I wish I knew:

– I knew guinea pigs don’t like extreme temperatures. I didn’t know that they can die from heat stroke within half an hour of exposure to extreme heat. Our pets were in the sun for 1.5 hours.

– Those plastic pet igloos trap heat and humidity. They’re great when it’s not hot, or to keep pellets dry, but don’t rely on them to keep pets cool in the warmer months.

– Know your garden. Where I put their pen that morning was exactly where the afternoon shade cuts off, so had I had the pen just another 30cm towards the fence, they’d have been better off.

– Guinea pigs don’t drink warm water, which is frankly annoying and I question the evolutionary benefits of shunning water because of its temperature. The last couple of days I couldn’t work out why they weren’t drinking, and that’s why. Put ice cubes in the water on a hot day.

– Freeze containers or bottles of water and put them in the hutch or pen. They’ll snuggle up to them and stay cool. I really, really wish I had thought to do this on Friday.

– Don’t be a douche and forget your pets, or think they’ll be fine. Always be cautious. I was the crazy guinea pig lady, which is slightly better then a cat lady but not much. I honestly took great care of them. But I fucked up just one time and now all of them, including lots of babies, are dead. So I’m thinking if someone like me, who is normally so careful, can make such a huge stuff-up, then anyone can.

I know there are worse things happening in the world. I know there are sick kids, families in refugee camps, endangered species and the like. And I know that none of this compares to that.

But this feels pretty shitty.

Like it? Share it using these buttons that I don't understand. You can also comment below.

Like this:

I had no idea. I’ve spent the last 30 years thinking it was, “Nobody’s jugs are bigger than HER NETS.” I can’t find a clip so you can hear the similarity for yourself. I did, however, find the original trailor and I include it here as my gift to you.

I’ve spent years (YEARS!) lying awake at night, wondering, as a woman (for that is what I am), what are my nets? Are they my nets? Is that my net? What’s a net?

I’m pretty sure my subconscious mind thought “nets” was referring to bras – the word implies a degree of anti-gravitational support. But I couldn’t understand why the t-birds would be so excited about the possibility of bras being bigger than boobs? Wasn’t Kenickie a man about town? Surely the outer casing, if you will, is always going to be bigger than what it’s holding? It’s just not that exciting.

But it’s all a moot (what a great word) point, because this whole time it was “Annette” not “her nets.” I wonder if such complications are an everyday thing for women called Annette.

On a sidenote, when Rizzo sang Sandra Dee, one of the lines was, “Would you pull that crap with Annette?” Jeez, Grease people, we get it – Annette was the word (did you see what I did there?).

OK I know this is sad but it’s also educational: I googled Annette because I really am that tragic. They are referring to a real person, her name was Annette Joanne Funicello. The scriptwriters used references to this1950s celeb to dupe audiences into thinking the film was NOT made in 1978. She looked like this:

Yep. Nobody’s jugs were bigger than Annette’s.

I just wish I’d figured this all out sooner. I realised Kenny and Dolly weren’t singing “I live in this street” when I was about ten. That was handy as I was living on a farm and the two types of music were country and western. To misquote Kenny and Dolly was social death.

“I live in this street, that is what we are…”

For a short while, I thought Sade’s Smooth Operator was a telephone operator. I had certainly worked this little chestnut out by my late teens, so that’s OK.

He’s very, very smooth.

Of course it’s not just me. I have a great friend, Nic – she’s the one who paid a fortune for her pet mouse to have an anaesthetic so the vet could fix his permanent erection. When Huey Lewis sang about the power of love, she didn’t get it. She thought he was singing about his beloved car, his Powerola. She just thought he really, really loved his car.

OK so it’s not just Nic and I, everyone reading this has stuffed the words up at some point. What did you get wrong?

Like it? Share it using these buttons that I don't understand. You can also comment below.

Like this:

As every modern Mummy worth her Himalayan salt will tell you, kids’ birthday parties are about one thing: the styling.

Yes, our kids’ birthdays are the perfect chance to show everyone how stylish and creative we are. My daughter is having her sixth birthday party this weekend. It will absolutely look like this, and sure, I’ll style my kids’ friends if I have to:

Or this…. who knew kids could be so clean!

Seriously, when did we decide kids’ parties have to look so pretty? This is a recent thing, yes? It actually suits some people, for some, any kind of decorating is effortless and they absolutely love it. I suspect this isn’t the case for most of us.

It’s easy to get caught up in it all. Last year, I did the “Look! I’ve put pink drinks into mini milk bottles, each one personalised with a stylish name tag attached with ribbon and served with stripey paper straws!” thing. I was quite chuffed as it looked great, although really, my daughter would have been just as thrilled with a chewed paper cup that said “Wayne.”

I didn’t even get a photo for Facebook! What WAS the point?

I don’t go crazy, but I do love having birthday parties for the kids. Turning another year older is a huge reason to celebrate, and really, they’re not little for long so bring on the fairy bread (how good is it??).

So this time each year, I’m in party planning mode. I use the word “planning” very loosely. Basically I go online for ideas, find all these pretty things look too hard and ignore them. I end up throwing the same party as last year, with a different looking (but not tasting) cake. The kids like it so far, it works for me, so it’s fine. But if you haven’t already, just take a look at some of the other parties out there.

Just… wow.

I am seriously impressed and slightly envious – I honestly wish I had such talent. And if I could, I’m pretty certain I would. It’s all so pretty!

But I’m also leaning towards, “Come on people, let’s cut this shit out” because there’s already enough to do without full event styling for six year old children. I’d hate my kids to expect this level of perfection for their birthday parties because they will never, ever get it from me.

At my little boy’s first birthday party, he didn’t stop eating and how he still managed to breathe, I’ll never know. I thought it was really cute. “Oh look! He’s eating the equivalent of the family Mazda! Bless!!” This was a mistake. It was his first time eating both cake and chocolate – eldest child, obviously – and he ate so much, so quickly, that he puked highly decorated chocolate cupcake everywhere. With hindsight, it really was skilled, precision puking and it wasn’t my finest parenting moment.

Anyway, while I’m genuinely impressed with other people’s efforts, I’m really pleased a setup like this didn’t get covered in kiddy spew:

Come on, fess up, how much work goes into your kids’ parties?

Thanks Netmums!!

Like it? Share it using these buttons that I don't understand. You can also comment below.

Like this:

Here’s a little challenge for you that I can 100% promise will make you feel really good.

It’s not new, in fact you might have already done it. Or maybe you heard about it but didn’t actually do it.

I heard about it at work recently.

I work for a children’s charity, and we are very into all things positive. Positive psychology pretty much underpins everything we do, and if I was to tell you more about my work, you’d get why.

But I won’t. Instead, I’ll tell you that during a session on positivity, we were challenged to do this really awesome thing.

Here it is. If every single person reading this did it, all three of you including my mum, there would be just a bit more happiness in the world. And we all know that happiness is wonderfully infectious.

This is what you have to do

Think of someone who means a lot to you. They need to have had a positive impact on your life in some way. Maybe they inspired you to do something good, they might have helped you, made you laugh… it could be anything. They might have showed you how to juggle chicken livers and you’ve been enjoying it ever since.

Now, write them a letter. Write from the heart; it has to be truthful. Don’t worry about the grammar, your handwriting or letter writing etiquette, none of that matters. Go crazy – use bullet points if you need to! Woah – a letter without proper punctuation – it’s insane!

You are writing down why this person means so much to you. What is it about them that you like or love so much? Why do they matter so much to you?

Go on, off you go, I’ll be here when you get back.

Later…

Ah you’re back. All done? Good. (I will soooooo know if you haven’t done it. Like the time I found my daughters name written with her sparkly texta, in her writing, on her bedroom wall. She said she didn’t do it but I am just so intuitive, I knew it was her. Sixth sense and all that.)

You know where this is going, don’t you? Because the fun / scary part is coming up.

Now you have to go to that person and read them your letter. You HAVE to. I have officially challenged you and sure, you might not know me from Jack, but a challenge is a challenge. Don’t overthink it. Just do it.

If you skip this crucial step, what was the point of your letter? It’s a letter full of stuff you already knew. You could have been doing something else in those five minutes, like learning another language or how to fly a light aircraft.

Does the thought of reading this out to that person make you feel a bit silly? I understand. I am certain none of my friends have ever said, “Wow, Rachel is so in tune with her feelings and doesn’t she love to share them?” It’s just not me. Maybe it’s not you either, but I still think you should do this. You might make someone’s day – or year. I can promise you that afterwards, you will feel happy. Pure, real, sparkling happy.

A woman from work read her letter to the mother of her best friend from childhood. She called her, explained what was going on and read the letter aloud. Far from feeling silly, she said it was amazing and it was really cool hearing her describe it.

I wrote to my husband and the words came easily. I folded my piece of paper up, shoved it in my bag thinking that was that – and then I was told I had to read it aloud to him. I felt a bit awkward about it. Like I said, normally, this wouldn’t be my kind of thing.

I waited for the right moment. About a week later, realising this whole “right moment” thing is a big fat joke, as it always is, I decided the time had come. Too bad it was 11pm and he was fast asleep. I woke him up, and he is always supremely cheerful when I do that, and explained, “There was this thing at work…”

I read him my letter and I’m so glad I did.

I promise you’ll be glad you did too. And if it doesn’t then you can absolutely blame me.

How did you go?

Like it? Share it using these buttons that I don't understand. You can also comment below.

Like this:

Posts navigation

Welcome & Thanks!

I'm Rachel. Come procrastinate with me and you'll instantly look more attractive. It's true. I did not just make that up.

UPDATE

I've switched to Wordpress, and I'm sorry but most of your old comments have been lost. I'm working on it but for now it looks like I've been talking to myself all these years... which, in a way, isn't entirely incorrect.

Follow Via Email

Enter your email address to receive notifications of new posts by email.